


Nocturne in C-Sharp Minor

by chevrolangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Music, Musician Castiel (Supernatural), Musician Dean Winchester, Pianist Dean Winchester, Strangers to Lovers, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22739845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chevrolangels/pseuds/chevrolangels
Summary: Original prompt: Two music majors who regularly use adjacent practice rooms at the same ungodly hours of the night/morning AUPianist!Dean and Guitarist!Cas
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 177





	Nocturne in C-Sharp Minor

**Author's Note:**

> This one was fun to write! It also helped me find this [nocturne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tVV3SIvncD4) by Chopin which is now definitely one of my favorite pieces of classical music :)
> 
> [original post!](https://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/114057405874/are-you-still-taking-prompts-because-i-have-one)

Dean whistles, twirling his headphones on his fingers.

It’s absolutely silent in the dark hallway, but that’s how Dean likes it. The practice rooms are a complete mess during the day, all the underclassmen scuffling and scrapping for some rehearsal time—but Dean’s too old for that shit. So he may or may not have bribed Ash to give his ID access to the building past midnight. 

And anyway. Music just sounds better at 2 o’ clock in the morning.

Sammy can bitch all he likes, but Dean’s not worried about getting caught. He’s been doing this for nearly two years, and he’s never seen another soul down here. He’s golden.

He hikes up his bag on his shoulder, and pulls open the door, third one on the right—

And stops dead. Because someone’s already in there.

  
  
The dude looks up, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. Dean stares back.

“Can I help you?” The guy asks eventually, raising an eyebrow.

“Um.”

Dean furrows his brow. He vaguely recognizes the guy, remembering the gossip about the new transfer student. The music department is small, and fresh blood is rare. His first day caused a lot of gawking. (Dean may have been part of that gawking too, but nobody needs to know that.)

“The building’s closed,” he ends up saying.

Oh, great. Good one, Winchester.

The guy looks him up and down, absently plucking the strings on his guitar. He’s already hooked to the amp and everything.

"Doesn’t seem to be stopping you.”

Dean blinks a little. 

“Well—”

He shrugs, gesturing around.

“Yeah. I always practice here. This is my practice room.”

“There are three others right next door,” the guy says idly, turning back to his guitar.

Dean narrows his eyes. 

"The tuning’s better in here,” he says shortly.

The guy looks up at that, then glances towards the piano in the corner.

“You?” He asks, his lips curling up slightly. “Piano?”

Dean crosses his arms defensively.

“Yeah? And?”

The guy raises a hand.

“Nothing.” He laughs a little. “You just don’t seem the type.”

Dean rankles. Yes, he knows he doesn’t exactly _look_ like someone who's majoring in classical piano, but he’s awesome at it, and he’s already proved time and again that if anyone wants to give him shit for it, he's more than capable of kicking their ass. Including Mr. Wannabe Rockstar.

“Well, you don’t seem the type to be a douche, yet here we are,” he shoots back.

  
The guy raises his eyebrows slightly, but doesn’t say anything. Dean spreads his hands impatiently.

“So? You gonna move or not?”

The dude looks around for a moment, as if thinking it over.

"Or not,” he says finally, before going back to his guitar.

Dean opens his mouth, then furiously closes it again, huffing loudly.

He stomps out, slamming the door behind, probably a lot harder than necessary.

  
He throws his bag down next to the piano in the second practice room, flopping onto the bench. He rage warms up with some Prokofiev, and by the time he’s finished the final chord, he feels slightly better. Still a little miffed. He glances towards the wall, but he can’t hear anything. Dean grumbles. Dude stole his room and wasn’t even going to play?

Whatever. Fuck him.

He puts the asshole out of his mind and pulls up the bench, letting out a deep breath.

“Shake it off, Winchester,” he mutters, then he starts on the [Nocturne](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DtVV3SIvncD4&t=YjQyNjFlODU3NzllNjQ1NTU0MjFjYTdjMTQwNGM4ZDYzN2I3ZjgyZCxGNE5wV1dwcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A_0Y2Cy-4CwcyP1ZmeaBNig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fchevrolangels.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F114057405874%2Fare-you-still-taking-prompts-because-i-have-one&m=1).

  
x

  
Next day, Dean bolts down his dinner and leaves at top speed, leaving a confused Charlie behind him. There's no harm in getting there early, Dean tells himself. He could practice earlier today. No big deal.

And the guy probably isn’t there anyway. Yesterday had to have been a fluke. Dean is the only one with late-night access, right?  
He turns the corner, zeroing in on the third door. The light’s on, but then again it’s always on, so—

“Fuck,” Dean curses under his breath.

Guitar Asshole is in there again. Turning the pegs and adjusting the tuning, his eyes closed as he listens.

So Dean takes out his frustration on the piano. When he stops to catch his breath, still fuming, he hears nothing more than a faint twanging through the wall. 

He smirks. Soundproofing be damned.

Dean plays his exercises as loudly as possible, then throws in a bit of Rachmaninoff, just because he can, childishly wanting to disrupt the dude next door. 

He hits the final chord, but there’s still only silence. Dean rolls his eyes, reaching for his water bottle.

That’s when an earsplitting noise starts next door, causing Dean to nearly fall off the bench.

He scrambles up, pressing his ear to the wall. After two days of near-silence, dude decides to just casually start shredding Van Halen? Fucking Eddie Van _Halen_?

If Dean didn’t hate this guy’s guts so much, he might have fallen in love right then and there.

Dean listens as the guy plays through the final chords of the song, and he’s still standing there, frozen, long after the room next door has descended into silence.

x

  
Dean pokes his head in cautiously. 

No sign of douchebag-slash-guitar-genius. Hmmph. Perhaps he’s decided to stop his late night practices. 

Dean slides behind the piano, running a hand over the wood. He plays an experimental scale, smiling at the pitch. The other piano is okay, but he has a stubborn attachment to this one. He glances over his shoulder. 

Still no sign of the other guy. Or any sound from the practice room next door. Strangely, Dean feels disappointed. 

30 minutes later, he’s on the Nocturne again, trying to work out some of the kinks. He frowns, stretching out his cramping hand. He still can’t get some of the arpeggios right, especially in the coda. He flexes his wrists and is just about to start again, when the faint sounds of a guitar start playing.

Dean pauses, listening.

Huh. The Stones. He could respect that.

_And well_ , Dean thinks as he continues to listen. _Maybe he isn’t that bad_.

Okay…maybe he’s good. Really good.

And Dean may or may not sit and listen for a while, a little smile on his face.

x

  
“Dean’s in love,” Charlie informs Sam the minute he sits down.

Dean splutters. 

“Dude—what??”

She rolls her eyes.

“You’re in love with your mystery guitarist.”

Sam raises his eyebrows over his salad.

“The one you had a bitchfit over because he took your room?” He stabs a fork into his tomatoes, smirking. “I thought you hated that guy.”

Dean opens his mouth hotly, but Charlie cuts him off.

“Yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about it. But _now_ he won’t shut up about _him_ for completely different reasons.”

Dean glares at her.

“Charlie. It’s nothing like that. I just think he’s good, okay?”

Charlie gives him The Look, the one specifically reserved for Dean’s Bullshit.

“Sure, Winchester. Keep telling yourself that.”

Dean grabs his music and stalks off, muttering under his breath.

  
x

Dean leans back against the wall, humming along quietly.

Good old fashioned Beatles today. Dean smiles, tapping out the rhythm on his knee.

He's going to deny it until his dying day, because Charlie would never let him hear the end of it—but she's right. That basically over the past few weeks Dean's practice sessions had devolved to him mooning over the guy next door.

Oh god. The boy next door. His life really is a chick flick.

The music stops, and Dean hops up, heading to the piano. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears they’ve fallen into a sort of pattern. Boy Next Door plays, then Dean does. Trading off songs. Playing for each other. Albeit through a wall of brick, but hey. Baby steps.

Dean plays Mozart this time, a softer lullaby. He imagines the guy next door listening too, and he lets his fingers slide over the keys, smiling to himself. 

When he finishes, he slowly draws his hands back. Dean takes a deep breath.

Then he makes a decision.

He goes out into the hall, pulling open the door the the guy’s practice room.

“Hey, I—”

But it’s empty.

x

A week later, and Dean still hasn’t worked up the courage to introduce himself.  
He stares at the keys in front of him, fidgeting.

”You can do this, you idiot,” he mutters, trying to psyche himself up. “Just say hi, because, hey, y’know, we’re always practicing at the same time, and hey maybe we could play together or something or—”

The door opens behind him.

Dean whips around.

It's him. Standing sheepishly in the doorway, guitar in hand.

“Hey," he says, smiling.

“Hey,” Dean says, after a moment.

The guy fidgets, glancing around.

“I, um—”

He sticks a hand in his pocket.

“Just wanted to say sorry about taking your practice room. You’re right, you do sound better on that one," he says, nodding towards the piano.

Dean leans back, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Why’d you take it twice then?” 

The guy gets a mischievous look on his face.

“Honestly?”

Dean nods. The guy smirks.

“I just liked seeing you flustered.”

Dean’s elbow slips and lands on the keys with a discordant _clunk_.

He tries to save face, but the guy is graciously ignoring Dean's burning face, hooking up his guitar.

“Hey.”

He plays a couple notes, smiling at Dean.

“Can I show you something?”

Dean swallows. 

“Yeah. Sure.”

The guy nods towards the piano.

"Play for me? The Chopin one.” 

Dean’s mouth goes dry. 

“Um.”

He scrambles, turning to the keys.

“Yeah, okay.”

He starts off, a little shakily, conscious of those piercing blue eyes on him. But the notes are familiar, and it calms him. Then the guy starts [playing along](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D4C5ZkwrnVfM&t=OGE5NmE4NjdmMTE3NjJmM2Y3MGM2M2Q0NjkzZTY4NjYwODI0ZjllMSxGNE5wV1dwcA%3D%3D&b=t%3A_0Y2Cy-4CwcyP1ZmeaBNig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fchevrolangels.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F114057405874%2Fare-you-still-taking-prompts-because-i-have-one&m=1).

It’s unlike anything he’s ever heard. The smoothness of the piano and the sharp guitar stand in perfect contrast to each other, and Dean feels his throat constrict, that rush he only feels when performing onstage, here in this small practice room, with a stranger by his side.

The guy riffs a little in between the movements, and Dean pauses instinctively, holding his breath. They come back in together, and when the song ends, Dean drops his hands from the keys, almost dazed.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“Who’s there?”

Dean whips his head around, and there’s the jagged beam of a flashlight, coming from the open door.

“Oh, shit, the night guard—”

The guys bolts up, quickly unplugging the amp and grabbing Dean’s hand.

“C’mon—”

“Wait, my stuff—”

“We’ll get it tomorrow, come on—”

They dart out the doorway, running from the guard, who shouts when he sees them, but they quickly lose him in the twisting halls of the basement, before spilling out a side door, panting. 

Dean sinks back against the wall, clutching his side. The guy is hunched over, laughing in between deep gulps of air. 

“Guess it had to happen eventually,” he huffs out. Dean shrugs, laughing too.

“First time for everything.”

The guy straightens, still chuckling as he sticks out a hand.

“Hey. I’m Castiel.”

Dean grins, taking it.

"Dean.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Dean’s heart is pounding, maybe from the adrenaline, maybe from the boy’s dizzying smile, but he asks anyway.

"Hey. Crazy idea.”

Castiel turns to him. “Yeah?”

“Wanna play together?”

  
  
And that’s how their end of the school year recital ends up containing a crossover performance from one Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak, one of the first of its kind. And if during one rehearsal, unable to handle the tension any longer, Cas slams Dean against the wall and they end up making out on top of the piano, well. No one needs to know.


End file.
